


Don't Fall In Love (there's just too much to lose)

by grimparadigms



Series: widojest week 2019 [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Dealing With Loss, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, members of the m9 make appearances but not enough to warrant a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 16:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimparadigms/pseuds/grimparadigms
Summary: Jester wanted that fairytale life, and she even had it for a few years. But Jester learned the hard way that, just as they do in books, all fairytales come to an end.





	Don't Fall In Love (there's just too much to lose)

**Author's Note:**

> Delayed Widojest Week prompt.... this one is on the sadder side, woops!
> 
> For Day 4: Fairytale

Jester stands at her vanity, looking over herself one last time before she leaves. Her hair has grown so long now, midway down her back, her skin no longer soft and smooth, and no amount of makeup will hide her crow’s feet. She pulls her green shawl tighter around her shoulders, pursing her pink coated lips.

There’s a light knock at the door. “Mama, we’re going to be late!”

Jester Lavorre feels old and hardened, and no amount of layers will be able to cover what time and heartbreak has done to her. She stares blankly at her reflection for one moment longer and walks to the door, opening it gently.

Her daughter stands there, arms crossed and feet tapping away anxiously, greeting her mother with a tender smile. “You look so lovely, mama. Are you ready?”

Jester gives a slow nod, and her daughter takes her hand, and guides her down the stairs and out into the open air. The sun is high in the sky, cloudless and looming, almost as if the weather is willing her to feel a warmth that could reach her wilting heart. She lifts one hand to cover her eyes, turning her gaze away from the bright rays. It feels cruel that today of all days the sun would shine so brightly.

“Uncle Fjord’s going to be there this year,” her daughter begins conversationally, the red curls of hair bouncing as she speaks. “That’s pretty exciting, right, mama? We rarely get to see him!”

Jester twists anxiously at the gold band on her fourth finger; a flutter of nerves rocking her system. This would be the first year that Fjord didn’t have twenty excuses to fling at her for why he couldn’t be there; the first year she wouldn’t have to hear his woeful apologies. Was it worse that she’d have to look another person in the eyes? Would Fjord look at her with pity or guilt?

She hadn’t seen Fjord in a year. The half-orc much preferred the sea now, eager to keep his distance after—

“Everyone else will be there?” Jester asks lightly, thinking of all her old friends’ faces. 

“Yeah, Aunt Veth even said Luc will be there. He returned home a week ago!”

Strange. Her daughter knew more of what was happening between her old friends’ more than Jester did. An old guilt stuck in her throat as she thought of how much she’d retreated into her home, and further still. 

They reach the Brenatto residence, passing by the storefront with the shutter’s closed, and walking to the steps that led to the actual home. Her daughter bounced up the steps with an excitement that Jester used to wear, and she wants to pull her sweet child into an embrace. Her daughter was getting taller, her body becoming sharper with curves; the small child that used to bounce on her father’s lap with loud giggles as he read to her was gone. 

The Brenatto home had been decorated with warm colors; red and orange decorations hung along the walls, bowls of foods and candies had been laid out, balls of white hung from the ceiling with swirls of red dangling beside them. The prior year, Nott had struggled with the decor, haphazardly sticking blank sheets of parchment to the walls. This was year an improvement.

“Do you like it?” Her daughter spun and pointed to the reds and oranges, reminiscent of fire. “I helped this year!”

“It’s beautiful.” Jester feels proud that her daughter’s taken the same creative path as her, though she dealt less with paints and more with crafts. _She’s just like you_ , she can hear Caleb’s deep laughter, can almost feel his sweet smile directed at her. _Another artist in the family._ Their daughter had painted on her plain white ceramic cup—the one she used for her paintbrushes—drawing their family of three surrounded by colorful foods and candies. Jester tries not to choke on the memory.

“You’re here!” Nott turns the corner, still wearing an apron, her braids decorated with daisies. She flings her small brown arms around Jester’s waist, squeezing tight. “It’s been too long, Jessie!”

“I know.” She hasn’t seen Nott in three months, even though they live half a mile apart. “I’ve been super busy. Lots of demanding clients this time of year.”

“Come on, everyone’s in the living room!” Nott begins to drag her into another room, one even lovelier than the first. Nott’s done away with the curtains, letting the sunshine light up the dark gold carpet, casting glittering rays across every person in the room.  
Everyone’s there, just as her daughter had told her. Luc, who’s almost a whole foot taller than his father, sits with Caduceus, both smiling with teacups in hand. Beau’s hair has been cropped shorter, leaned up against the wall as she speaks with Yasha and Fjord, her hands moving wildly as she speaks. It’s the first time in a few years that Jester’s seen them all in one place. 

“Jester’s here!” Nott vocalizes, and everyone turns to her. She averts her gaze bashfully, wishing she could climb back into bed, close the curtains, and sleep. 

“Jess!” Beau flings herself as Jester first, her arms around the tiefling’s neck. “It’s been too long. You look great!”

“Don’t lie, Beau. I look old. You look good, though.” Beau hasn’t neglected a single day of workouts over the years, the muscles of her arms still as defined as the day they met. 

“Hey, Jessie,” Fjord steps out from behind Beau pulling her into the next embrace. “How’ve ya been?”

“Busy,” she quips a little too sharply and he winces. She doesn’t want to be angry today, but it’s impossible when she looks at him. The grey in his hair has spread, and he looks weathered and tired, just like her. 

“Busy is good.”

Jester’s already feeling overwhelmed and queasy, so she makes her way past her friends’ to the open spot on the couch across from Caduceus. He nods at her, lifting his tea in greetings. She forces herself to smile back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Everyone seems to back off, turning toward her beautiful daughter, and she can hear their honeyed compliments. _Wow, you’ve grown so much! You look just like your mom. How old are you now?_ She’s grateful her daughter is willing to take the attention away from her.

“Hey,” Yasha greets, seating herself beside Jester, her finger-light touch on Jester’s clasped hands. “I’ve missed you.”

She meets Yasha’s heterochromatic eyes, soft with understanding, and Jester _hates_ it so much. It’s only Yasha who can possibly understand the effort it takes Jester to come every year. It’s only Yasha who doesn’t look at her with and nothing else. She’s the only one who makes Jester feel like she’s more than just a widow. 

“It really has been too long,” Jester sighs, wrapping her arms around Yasha. “But it’s hard, you know?”

“I get it, Jester. But I’m glad you came. Beau was worried.”

Jester glances back over to Beau who’s showing off her arms to her daughter, holding up Fjord’s arm for comparison. Their fit of laughter is joyful, but Jester can hardly feel it. 

“I come for Una.” Jester’s eyes move to her daughter, her smile just as wide as her father’s, her eyes just as blue. “She needs this.”

“She’s growing up before our eyes. I remember when she would try to ride around on my shoulders.”

“Ja,” Jester’s voice is a whisper, and she can feel the sting of tears in her eyes. She remembers a great many things of when Una was still learning to crawl, to walk, to tell childish jokes. “She’ll be fifteen soon.”

Jester knows that teenagers are a handful; everyone is sure to tell her that every year her daughter has grown older. But Una had never been a problem. She was curious and sweet, charming and a bit rebellious, and the best gift Jester had ever received. The only thing Jester worried about was her daughter finding love. 

“Everyone says that she’s just like me, but…” Jester watches her daughter’s lip curl into a huge grin. “She’s just like Caleb. So much like him.”

Jester can feel a tear fall, quickly wiping away before another can betray her. She tears her gaze away from her child, back to Yasha who can anchor her back. Yasha is the only one who doesn’t flinch at his name. 

“He’d be very proud of the woman she’s becoming,” Jester continues, hating the way her voice breaks as she speaks. “She’s so insightful and quick-witted; full of love to give. I worry.”

Una Lavorre is every bit of good that Caleb Widogast had incarnate. She can’t look at her daughter without seeing his smile flashing back at her. When her daughter comes home with arms full of books, she thinks of Caleb’s own elation at finding new things to read. Her daughter is beautiful and easy to love, and that thought alone terrifies her.

“I don’t want her to be like me,” Jester whispers, her fingers twisting at her wedding ring again. “I don’t want her to ever feel heartbroken. I never want her to experience loss.”

“Jester, you can’t protect her from that.”

“I can _try_.”

If she could, she’d withhold every bad feeling and trace of hurt from ever touching her child. But she’d already failed once, hadn’t she? She let Una lose her father. She couldn’t protect her from that pain, even though she’d tried so fucking hard. Caleb’s eyes, blinking up at her in confusion from her daughter’s face, as she’d struggled to explain why he was, and how he would never come back. Jester can feel her body shaking, thoughts of her lovely daughter in a white dress and veil, a blurred face before her as she marries another saccharine heart, and her face crumples in distress. 

She couldn’t risk her daughter’s heart.

“Mama,” Una’s kneeling before her, and Jester hadn’t even noticed her approach. She has a vibrant red book in hand, and she places it lightly in Jester’s lap. “I-I made this for you.”

Jester hopes her eyes aren’t too red as she tries to rub away any traces of tears, looking down at the book. She runs her fingers along the cover, _Zeit ist das teuerste kleinod_. The Zemnian words hit her, and she swallows down the sob. Caleb had gotten into the habit of saying the phrase, especially after they’d married. He’d whisper into her ear on long nights, holding her close, pressing kisses along her collarbone until she’d dissolve into a fit of giggles. He’d said the first time he held their child, his eyes filled with adoration and tears. Even their last night together, when he’d kissed her plain on the mouth before walking out the door, he’d said it with finality. 

“He’s been gone for ten years, so I wanted to make something that we could see; something for you and me. A way to remember him.”

She doesn’t care that the rest of the Mighty Nein has crowded around her to see what she’s been given. Jester shakes hard as she flips the book open, and the images pop to life. Her daughter has crafted by hand and with learned magic the story of her and Caleb. It’s the inn from Trostenwald; a small version of her sits at a table, leaning toward a disheveled Caleb and a goblin Nott, the memory sinking into the pit of her stomach. 

“It’s your story, mama.”

She flips to the next page and then the next, and each one feels like slipping into his warm embrace. She sees their first dance, their first kiss, the first prank they pulled together. She remembers telling Una these stories, because she had wanted her daughter to know the man who loved her; the man who would have done anything to raise her. 

She openly sobs when she arrives at the wedding. She can’t fathom how her daughter has managed to recreate the serenity of the day; her cream dress just as flowing, Caleb’s robes sparkling, both of them stupidly smiling. The day had been a fairytale come to life. 

Jester’s too terrified to go farther, closing the book, and tugging her daughter into her arms, burying her face in the crook of her neck, deep sobs shaking through her. 

“I love it, I love it!” She cries, thinking of Caleb in the afterlife, hoping that if he can’t see them, he can at least feel all the love they have for him. “I love you so much.”

Her world has been full of hurt and maybe her heart was broken, but she had Una—she had _something_. Caleb had not left her completely alone. Una was theirs, and in her arms, she could feel her daughter’s own cries. They’d both lost something they’d never get back, but his memory was still alive within them; a shining beacon that kept them both afloat. 

“Zeit ist das teuerste kleinod,” her daughter pulls away to say the words aloud, as Caleb once did, her accent perfected from all her training. “Let’s not let it go to waste, mama.”

Jester Lavorre’s been without Caleb for ten years, her heart still raw from the loss she couldn’t prevent, but she was not alone. Surrounded by the ones who loved her through all the mayhem, all the hardships, and each quiet moment in between; Jester knew undoubtedly she was loved. She kisses her daughter’s cheeks and wipes away her tears.

An unmistakable warmth spread over her arms, and she _knew_ Caleb was here beside her, holding her, loving her. 

_She’s grown so much, Caleb. She’s full of heart. You’d love her._

_I do_. She feels the heat grow stronger. _I do._

Jester doesn’t want her daughter to love, because it’s terrible and excruciating, but without it, the beautiful woman she and Caleb created would not exist before her. The tears stop and Jester smiles, feeling braver and more assured than she’s felt in years. 

_She’ll be okay, schatz._

“To Caleb Widogast!” Beau lifts her drink high into the air, and the rest of the room follows suit. She’s grateful to each and every one of them. They cry out his name again and cheer, and Jester brings herself to say his name as well, her voice less shaky as she speaks. 

Today is Caleb Widogast’s birthday, and the Might Nein come together to remember who he was and who he became.


End file.
